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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199939">My Faith, that was my Crown, Burns not so Gently</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate'>Estivate</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Thor (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Catholicism, Childhood Trauma, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Human AU, M/M, Man Asks and God Does not Answer, Psychological Horror, filthy filth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:49:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,711</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estivate/pseuds/Estivate</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She looked into the distance for many beats, until he was on the verge of calling her name. “The villagers know not what to make of it. When asked he does not answer – seems unable to recall the incident at all. Some call him a witch. There are pleas to have him burned.”</p>
<p>It seemed rather harsh. Even if they are afraid. “Were his family heretics?”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>“Do you believe him possessed?”</p>
<p>“Can one possessed recite their pater nosters, hold a rosary, or make the sign of the cross? No. I don’t think so.” shaking her head for emphasis.</p>
<p>“Does he pray?”</p>
<p>“Yes. But who’s to say it’s to our God?”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Loki/Thor, Loki/Thor (Marvel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Faith, that was my Crown, Burns not so Gently</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raccoonsito/gifts">Raccoonsito</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the naughtiest darling Raccoonsito, who by virtue of existence, implants my head with sinful sinful ideas. 💙🦝</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>He tugged the reins as encouragement to the horse since their long journey north, the convent within sight. A fortnight’s travel with the barest of human comforts between. Tonight, he would at least have a comfortable bed without charge, but it was a village that had seen better times.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If his presence was regarded at all, charting up the winding cobblestone road, then it went without greeting. Therein even a few instances where households closed their shutters at the sight of a stranger, above all lacking even the most customary signs of warmth and life. Not a child playing in the street, nor gossiping neighbourhood chatter. When his eyes caught those of another, they were tired and wary.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was not an offence to Thor, whose stern mannerisms carried within him of someone entrusted with duty. Besides, he should not rue the absence of distraction – for by the dusky horizon was an ominous cover of inky clouds, and so he gently spurred his stead again, with the silent promise of rest merely one hilltop away. He could see the silhouette of the overhanging chapel bell tower, and from it came the spectral hoot of owls. Night was closing in on its last gasp and then they would take flight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like this, the house of worship seemed barely a place of sanctuary, but here was his destination, and he finally dismounted, approaching its iron gates. Ordinarily, the grounds were a rigid enclosure, and entry was strictly forbidden to men, however, upon providing the letter missive, written by the abbess herself, he was permitted inside. He followed his guide through the threshold’s heavy doors, which appeared to protect the world outside as much as it did to shelter its members within.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve come. I wasn’t sure the church would send assistance.” Came the voice of a sister, the light from her candle flickered in relief her white linen wimple, covering a face of age, the contrast made stark against the rough black robes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The letter remained between his fingers. Its contents vague but written in grave tones. “I would be of better assistance, if I fully understood what exactly was being requested, sister.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>She shifted her stance, and dodged his gaze to glance at corners, skittish and nervous. It was momentary however, and she understood it was not an unreasonable request – to be given context for such a sanctioned act. “Very well, but let’s discuss over supper. You must be exhausted, and we are in no immediate rush.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From the cramp in his thigh and the stiffness in his joints from riding, he was reminded of how tired he was. So he nodded, modest relief at the suggestion of food, but the way she said it, while the matter not urgent, suggested that she wanted it to be over and done with as quickly as possible. To what end he doesn’t know, but he’ll find out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We took him in as an act of charity.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Has he been a poor charge?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Quite the contrary, he’s very well behaved, and of those who knew him well before, to hear it said, you’d have a difficult time encountering a sweeter child.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor paused his wooden spoon mid-lift. The soup was thin, more a balm for hunger than satiety, but he’d always considered himself a bread and water kind of man. Soon he’d consider himself better off for not having much food in him at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Before?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The flames from the grate behind the chair she sat in crackled and spat. “Two years prior there had been a raid. Most of those living central to the town fled within the confines here for safety when it started. However, his family had been on the village’s outskirts and were its casualties.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The atmosphere became sombre, and while Thor had seen his own fair share of tragedy, it could not harden his heart against the news of more. As much as he sometimes wished it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“His father was murdered and body set to burn within the house. His mother was an attractive sort and brutalized to her death before him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Indeed, not much to recommend the soup now other than its ability to wash away what tasted like ash on his tongue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“T’was all over at the dawn of daybreak, and when help arrived, apart from scrapes and trauma, the boy himself was intact. From the silence we’d thought the marauders moved on, yet their bodies were found, mangled. More than a dozen grown men beaten to their deaths.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her account was simple, there was no trick for lack of detail, yet simplicity was also its mystery. “What am I to believe sister, on the charge of murder? That a youth of barely fifteen had the strength to do such a thing?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Upstairs a low wail came through the walls followed by a scream. The abbess was unshaken by the sound. As if she presided in an asylum. Taken aback, Thor wondered if they should not go see for themselves what was the matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sit down brother. Nightmares. We all have them now.” Her shoulders sagged and her eyes were gaunt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She looked into the distance for many beats, until he was on the verge of calling her name. “The villagers know not what to make of it. When asked he does not answer – seems unable to recall the incident at all. Some call him a witch. There are pleas to have him burned.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seemed rather harsh. Even if they are afraid. “Were his family heretics?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do you believe him possessed?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can one possessed recite their pater nosters, hold a rosary, or make the sign of the cross? No. I don’t think so.” shaking her head for emphasis.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Does he pray?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes. But who’s to say it’s to our God?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor leant back in his seat. Trying to make heads or tails of it. It’s frustrating like this to try and take in the measure of a man without seeing them for himself. “In what other ways does evil manifest from him?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“By now it’s difficult to discern truth from rumor. At some point there were whispers of the boy conversing with snakes – though I have not witnessed that one myself.” She gave a long sigh. “I’ll tell you what I do know. Ever since then misfortune cloaks him like a veil. Why even now, here, our chickens can’t lay eggs and our goats no longer produce milk. The towers are accosted with ravens. The sisters have nightmares and a few have given up the faith altogether, having abandoned these grounds. The very first family to take him in – out of pity – the girl’s pregnancy resulted in a stillborn babe.” She paused to swallow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The truth was it was alive for only a few hours, but it was cursed and we could not baptise it. I was there you see, and watched it rasp its last, wet breaths. Be glad that you’ve never seen a baby seemingly born without skin, while its eyes were blind pustules. Not a week later and the mother committed suicide. Shortly afterwards the widower tried to strangle the boy in his bed. Since the failed attempt, he’s gone quite mad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the silence that followed, there seemed more or less to Thor only one way for this village to be brought peace, but he asks all the same, hoping for another answer. “What is it you would have me do?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would have you rid us of him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He could tell by the gravitas of their conversation that this was not a sentence she considered lightly, but that she was at her wit’s end. Decisiveness wrought of desperation. Murder, short and simple.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The thought now spoken, pitched like lead, a dead weight in his stomach that acted like slow poison, numbing him throughout. In the name of the church, there are those that have killed for far less. Yet he was not them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sensed his unease. Seeing herself in his eyes the look of a woman given into hysteria, but she knew the truth of her words and would not allow him to back away from the obligation of the church. “Stay if you must. Question the boy. Question the towns folk.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sound of grating wood on stone from that of his chair being abruptly pushed back. Another forlorn wail from within these walls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She called after him. “You’ll see. Once the nightmares come for you too, you’ll see.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The crypt was cold but arid as Thor followed a nun down the low corridors. “We provide what we would to any prisoner. Two meals a day and bedding. He’s been left the bible but can only recognize a few verses. Otherwise he does what he is told and doesn’t fight it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is he in poor health?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thin, but not sickly.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Does he ask for anyone?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No one.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then they came to a wooden door, and the nun fished a ring of keys from her robe. “Best of luck with him. You may have access for as long as you stay but be sure to lock when you leave.” She placed the small and slender key in his palm. She then handed him a torch for him to guide his way back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor worked the lock and the door creaked open at a touch, half expecting something to lurch from the dark, but there was nothing, and his eyes adjusted gradually. There was a small desk with a candle burned low and flickering by the change in air current. By the wall was a small wooden cot with a figure seated upon it. He stared at Thor as he entered – pale face framed in dark hair. A large man, Thor filled the tiny space, but the child, apart from shifting to make room, did not shrink away from him. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The chair seemed so rickety that he worried he’d break the thing by sitting on it. Likewise, there was barely enough room on the bed. So he settled to lower himself down on the flagstone floor. Now that he was here, he found himself at a loss for words. The boy was not quite what he expected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Am I to burn?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The question caught him off guard. The forwardness of it, as well as the speaker’s own knowledge of a pending sentence. He found his voice somehow, rough but gentle. “Not if I have any say in it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ah,” he reacted by drawing inwards, hugging his knees in his arms, “that’s good then. I don’t much like fire.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor winced, remembering the father’s fate. “Can you tell me what you know?” and then internally chiding himself for rudeness, “And your name?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He swallows. “I… I know what they think of me.” A pause. “Loki.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Thor.” He replied. The conversation was unusually candid. A small grace perhaps. The smallest of graces. “Then you know the accusations are serious.” He felt sorry as he said it. This child evidently one so tender. How could any of it be true? “Will you not say anything in your own defence?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He looked at him, the boy slightly above his eye level. In his position Thor felt like that of a parent trying to coax the admission of some perverse prank from a misbehaving adolescent, but for the slight frown and those haunted eyes of green.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the dying candlelight, the shadows from his eyelashes dragged long “I’m sorry. I just can’t remember.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning Thor set out on foot to clear his head and find for himself the scene of the massacre. Despite the low clouds of yesterday evening, the morning afterwards showed no evidence of rain. It made the uphill trek easier, but by the wilted stems of grass, it certainly seemed as if they could’ve used it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From where he stood, he looked back towards town, the perspective hazy. Here he could see the peak of the chapel. He wondered, from the top of that bell tower, whether one would be able to see a horizon set ablaze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before him stood the charred foundations of a house. Within the outline were various weeds and sprouts that eagerly grew in the nutrient rich soil. He could make out what were once the features of a small pen, and to the side a well. The wind shifted slightly as he walked among the remains. If the parents were buried here, then their graves were unmarked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>‘What of the raiders then?’</em> but there was no way of telling a patch of pasture once stained with blood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sinking to his knees, all he can do is say a prayer for the innocent souls lost.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That night they sit together in companionship. Thor read from the bible while Loki listened. At times Thor felt Loki’s gaze on him, almost like a physical touch, but other than that, he had a feline’s talent for staying still. The boy didn’t blink much, and some moments he seemed to barely breathe. Those eyes, while intelligent, had the uncanny quality of a statue’s gaze. A curiosity enhanced by perception, but what it was Loki perceived to be of interest, Thor didn’t ask.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You don’t seem to be a man of the cloth.” he interjected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor marked where they left off. No matter how penitent a soul, it was only one of a child’s. Besides, it strained his eyes to read like this in the dim. Rubbing them, “What do I seem?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I would’ve thought a smith, or a soldier.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That brought a brief chuckle from him, and the boy blushed. Thor thought back to when taking up with the cavalry was offered to him, in the waning years of the crusades where the church was desperate for men. He’s glad he didn’t take that path.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was brought up by monks in a northern monastery. The living wasn’t easy.” The monasteries took in boys who were orphaned after frequent clashes between Vikings and Christians. His family had been labelled pagans, but salvation could be found by indoctrination with the church. “In fact they trained us themselves because of the threat of attacks on churches, which tended to be poorly fortified and easily plundered.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You- you’ve had to fight then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Did you ever kill?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He debated not answering, and Loki opened his mouth as if to apologize.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Loki closed his mouth. Surprised.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor studied his own rough hands. He recalled the miserable winters when he’d have to draw water in a threadbare cloak, fumbling under his breath for the correct Latin recitations. Often worked like serfs throughout the seasons, but in the end, who was he to begrudge his current living? He survived, was now a man, and carried on the teachings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Moments passed, the candle burning lower.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is there a limit to God’s forgiveness, though his love is said to be infinite?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>‘No.’ </em>is what Thor wants to say. <em>‘Yes.’</em> Is what he’s too afraid to admit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next day, Thor set out to a starve-acre farm. It seemed to him the sort of property that had neither been well cared for by its lord or workers, and now at harvest they had little to reap. Those that set to hacking and pulling tugged at tubers with hardy roots and only the suggestion of top leaves that had already been consumed. The whole field as a result was a desolate drab, as if a sad expanse of earth that was one vast expanse of skin from chin to brow. The pale sky above was similarly featureless, without bird or cloud, and all day long each face regarded the other – with those assigned to toil in the dirt crawling over the surface like flies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He refocused and approached one of the women while she wiped her hands on her apron. “Looking for someone?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is your name Marion?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She nodded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then I’m looking for your husband, actually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“He’s the next town over and travelling, but whatever it is you wanted to ask of him you can ask of me.” she bristled. “Yer the inquisitor that some ‘ave been talking about. An’ I see you’ve been diligently carrying out the Lord’s work.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He detected a hint of sarcasm in her assessment. “Well, I was seeking your husband because I was told he was one of the first on the scene of the raid when help arrived.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She spat to the side in the same way one might cuss. “This is all regarding that Laufeyson boy isn’t it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sensing the antagonism in her tone, “I just wanted to know what he saw, and whether it was what they claim.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If you’re looking for mercy you shouldn’t. You don’t have to be able to clobber a man for it to count as witchcraft.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How did he kill those men then?” Thor asked, half exasperation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“If I tell it to you, I suppose it’d be as good as confession.” There was a slight pause where she took it as approval. Then she leaned in and whispered. “If you mean who dealt the fatal blow, then they killed each other, set upon like animals – but he was found standing to the side of the meadow, smiling and watching.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That evening they found companionship once again. That time when he entered Loki had been sitting at the desk, practising a few words on parchment. The boy was young but knew enough of the alphabet to write his name, those of his parents… and also Thor’s. “My mother knew a little. She wanted to send me to school eventually.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor took the page and praised the neat penmanship. “You would’ve been a good student.” Had fortunes been kinder, most certainly an accomplished scholar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he took the bed and scooted over enough to make room for Loki as well, who hesitated, but ultimately accepted the invitation. For the length of time it took one candle to burn down, Thor read to him from the bible, using his finger to scan alongside the words as Loki listened. As the night wore on, his voice lulled him towards sleep, and that head of dark hair repeatedly dipped low before bobbing up, until it could stave it off no longer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By then, Thor was no longer turning the pages so as to not disturb him with the motion. He slept with the face of an innocent, yet Thor was supposed to regard him as witch and murderer – to guide to the same end as rapists, adulterers, and heretics.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>These nights could not last, he knew, but he would not see to the dreaded deed now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In a moment of disquiet, he could not help but let his eye wander. Despite the abject conditions under which he lived, the boy was blessed with a strange vitality. His skin was smooth and white as fresh cream, his sable hair curled in gentle waves even darker than the surrounding shadows, and finally his childlike mouth like that of strawberries in spring.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gently, he works the slack body loose and lays him down, pulling over the thin cover. He leaves, sliding over the heavy iron bolt of the door and locking its occupant inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That night he dreamt just as the abbess warned, waking up in a cold sweat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know not through what devilry is the source – only that the nightmares are different for everyone, and seem to play into their worst fears.” she told him at the table the next morning, seeing the evidence in his exhaustion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He nods miserably.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“These nights can be long. I’ve seen men rougher and harder than you break under its length. Sleep is a precious thing, until it isn’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s tempted to ask her what images haunt her nights.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I take it you’ve done enough of your own cross-examinations and due diligence. If you’ve come to a decision, it’s best not to delay.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Despite those words, he idles away hours at the pews of the old chapel. The day is a bright one, and rays of light illuminate the benches of chestnut, fragrantly basking in the late summer sun. Out of beaten habit, Thor had crossed himself before the lone statue of the Virgin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why now? Like this? Has he not been a faithful servant all these years? He asked and waited for answers that wouldn’t come. His lone voice rang desolate and empty in the silence, but when he raised his head and gazed at the faded eyes which looked down upon him, he shivered at how flat, and blank, and <em>real</em> they appeared. Inhuman and indifferent.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In the wake of this futility, Thor could only let the heavy quiet settle while the saints gazed on, silent and judging.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The nearer he approaches the door, the heavier the key feels – and hotter, as if it could burn. It turns in its lock, and on the other side the boy sits neatly perched. Despite himself, for a fraction of a second, Loki had seemed glad to see him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For all he knew, he could have imagined it, but it makes the first time he’s seen him smile – yet for all the damnations in the world, but he wants to see it again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Clumsily, he starts “Tell me a memory that made you happiest.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Somewhat flustered by the sudden request, Loki takes a little time to think. Thor steals glances to admire him even in thought. The way those lips pursed, and his wide eyes blinked. “There used to be an apple tree on the hilltop of our home – the first time I bit into one of its fruits I was riding on the shoulders of my father and the air was scented with its ripeness. Yet before he came home, I tried so hard throughout the day to get at one: jumping, climbing, throwing sticks into the canopy. It all seemed so silly if I could’ve just been patient.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He then shied away, as if he thought he overshared. “It’s not very spectacular is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor shook his head. I’ve always found happiness in its purest form to be a modesty often otherwise taken for granted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Then what about you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This one he knows readily. “Hearing choral music for the first time played on the organ, in the morning lighted against a rose window.” It was perhaps the only experience he ever considered holy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To a child who has never even seen a cathedral let alone heard a composition, he sees in Loki’s transported gaze an attempt at imaging.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In this manner, they trade innocent delights as the minutes fly by. In barely any time at all, once more the candle runs low, and the flame starts to struggle. The change in light is a subtle reminder that time has run scant. “You’ve seen so much,” Loki appraises, that ephemeral smile then fading “have you ever despaired of it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then just like that, the levity of the previous hour had disappeared.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No. Because I care more for my work than my own selfish desires.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Does it bring you satisfaction?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What a question from one so young. “In the end I shall be satisfied.” It came out more tremulous than he intended. He sighed, then smoothed the fringe of hair back at the boy’s forehead. “I need to leave.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I understand.” his voice tired too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is there anything you want to still say?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He waits, stretching out the moments they have together, but there is no response. “Loki… can you tell me what you know about the night you lost your parents?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The body beside him suddenly goes rigid, while in his mind Thor begged. He tipped forward as if about to faint, but found a sturdy support on Thor’s shoulder, hiding his expression from the man. Thor could hear his own heart beat in his chest, and he wondered if Loki could hear it too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Leaving Thor to depart with only the feeling of disappointment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That night Thor dreams, for a duration that turns a nightmare into a lifetime. He lurches awake hard and terrified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This will be the last time they share a meal together. Thor breaks bread with the abbess and takes an unenthusiastic bite. He wasn’t hungry, not truly, but he was grateful for her hospitality. What good it’s done him, will do him. The nuns in the kitchens had made sincere effort, a steamed fish with herbs. He forced down each mouthful, feeling nauseous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tonight, leave the front gate unlocked, and I will depart before sunrise… to bury the body.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She lowers her head in pre-emptive grief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can his soul still be salvaged?” she asks, trying to find a thread of clemency in this lining.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>I don’t remember. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can only salvage a soul that’s willing.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She takes his hand and joins them in prayer. Thor mouths the words but cannot voice them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Tonight the key is cold in his grip, and his hands are white at the knuckles, the infamous belladonna, so conveniently a common nightshade weed in places, this one no different. Carried with a final meal of naught but gruel and bread, and a third bowl to make things convenient.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time when he enters, Loki seems very much afraid, but there is no getting around a figure like Thor’s as he fills the frame and shuts the door behind him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor gestures at him to eat and sets to work by crushing the berries with mortar and pestle – morbidly watching the way they shined like tar and glinted like eyes. Then he splashes some water inside the container, and all that remains is for the condemned to drink its contents.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He’s braver than Thor thought he’d be, not asking whether it’d be painful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Loki hold trembles as he brings the rim to his lips, spilling some. The time it takes for him to do it is nothing short of agonizing for them both, but then he lowers it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Can you stay? Just until it’s fully done.” Those green eyes pleading, perilously beautifully even now. “I don’t want to be alone as I go.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor swallowed and nodded, cowardly, dumbly, however one nods at pity for the executed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The built up tears at the corners of his eyes spill over, and he smiles in relief. “Thank you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Where the first attempt to lift the small thing was unwilling and forced, his second attempt was calm and elegant, and Thor was almost paralyzed as he watched his head tip back along the pale column of neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>No! It couldn’t—he wouldn’t---</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arm snapping forward like a whip, he struck the thing out of his hold with a discordant crash on the stone floor. Memory was a flashpoint reel, he couldn’t tell how much had reached those lips. “Spit it out, spit it out, spit it out – “ he repeated, desperate. The blood was rushing in his eardrums and he couldn’t hear his own words above it. Loki was gasping in shock, so Thor did the only thing he could.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He took that mouth in his own and sucked. Hard. Enough to try and pull the life out of him if it wasn’t for the purpose of saving it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he felt a significant amount, he then drew back and spat at the ground, the same way one would try to draw venom from a viper’s bite. He was careful to keep it up, sucking and spitting, sucking and spitting, all the while careful to not swallow any amount himself. He must have done it a good two dozen times until he felt it was enough. It wasn’t until he drew back that he realized how he’d had Loki’s wrists pinned above his head on the bed with one hand, while his other held the side of his face, tilting it upwards to make him easier to receive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The boy let out a weak whimper, which Thor gladly accepted. His cheeks were flushed like fever and his pupils were dilated to the point of engulfing those green irises. Those lips, usually so slim and petit were bruised and swollen, yet it served to only make him more attractive.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he moves to take them again, he allows himself to savour. An ever so faintly sweet aftertaste, chasing it as deeply as his tongue would allow. And it only proved to be corruptingly ravenous. His morals dashed along with the poison, his judgement impaired by the lack of oxygen, and his inhibition dissolved through adrenaline. It wasn’t enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“For you I have forsaken my faith and have been tormented.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Loki let out a strangled cry as Thor moved to kiss and bite at his neck and collarbone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And why? Why for one who won’t even try to preserve his own life? I’ve witnessed war criminals play at being innocent when in chains, but at least they selfishly fought death as mortals can sincerely fight anything.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry-“ Loki sobbed. “I don’t remember. I don’t remember!” he screamed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This life is wretched.” he admitted, while tearing off the boy’s shirt, “You asked me if I ever despaired? At the endless butchery that is mankind. How one neighbour will always steal from the other yet less fortunate, while men lust after what isn’t theirs? Our nature as vestigial and cruel as beasts, but that we are elevated only in the lies we tell ourselves and each other.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His frenzied violence took desire into his own hands, now ripping off the thin trousers he wore, that small body lifted from the cot by the force of it. “But it’s all you have, so if you’re serious about keeping it, then you’ll fight that repression in the same way you ought to be fighting me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Those slender fingers clawed over his chest. “Stop! Please!” but it only aroused Thor further, where blood had already filled him down there, now the pressure felt like it could burst.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let me in Loki. Let me in.” he commanded in a tone that sounded barely human.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I can still smell smoke Thor, and when I cough it feels like there should be ash sent up from my lungs. I never knew fire could reach so high over such a small house. And it’s hot – I feel like I’m in hell.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor worked himself free and to feel the cold crypt air on his heated cock was the sweetest relief. Even sweeter yet was the silken skin of those milk white thighs that he bracketed around his waist, relishing the way they quivered with the strain.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Father was already dead at least before they torched it, but mother they dragged to the field by her hair and her screams. I hear them all the time. Can you Thor? Tell me you hear it too. Tell me I’m not mad.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor’s hands explored every inch of pale, smooth skin, leaving a trail of bruises to mark his touch. “I can hear it Loki.” the concussive sound of a woman’s screams rending the night, screaming her son’s name and telling him to run.  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Have you ever borne witness to the sight and sounds of men making merry over the rape of a helpless innocent?” his voice broke and another wave of tears was on the verge of breaking “the same voice that used to tell me stories at night, wounded from pain and then exhaustion. The bastards took turns and then joked about their next round of pillaging. I wished she died in that house with father! At least they would’ve been together!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then the yelling morphed into a strange gurgle before becoming a laughter. “When they say I’m a murderer – if only. If only I could’ve separated them limb from limb myself!” the final word punctuated with a hiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“And somehow it still wasn’t enough for the sadists. The pigs that couldn’t have their fill. They turned their attention on me, one of them saying how I looked so pretty…” at this, Loki suddenly lost all struggle, and his body fell pliant beneath him, and Thor saw himself, almost as clear as day, what was so heinous as to be left unsaid. The chilling mirroring of actions of a man who held Loki down and worked him open, forcing his fingers into that tight ring of muscle. Except it was Thor’s own hand following the same action, with none of it under his control. He heard the raucous laughter too – it rang all around him. There was more: the scent of blood, and bloodlust.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“There was a tousle. One who didn’t have as rampant of as go previous then argued that it should be his turn next. He got pushed aside.” the same way Loki’s legs were also forced open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Such frailty as to enact a grudge, he returned the blow with a knock to the back of the head – but it was in that moment I was able to get away.” he whispered with a shuddering breath. “Their group frayed when each could no longer contain their own vice. They drew weapons against each other and then it was all a disarray.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thor bucked in arrhythmic motions as he talked, breaking his sentences into fragments that Loki clutched at hopelessly to finally tell his reality. Thor’s arms and legs and back ached with the effort, where pleasure and pain became indistinguishable and all he could seek was to crest that wave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I merely returned to watch.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then finally, both of them are granted release, and Thor gathers the boy in his arms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>---</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before daybreak, he walks out of the complex and into the empty streets. Unsure yet of where they’re going, but steps unfaltering. In his hold lies the limp and spent body of a child’s, his breathing tenuous but heartbeat there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While never a zealot, he had believed in God – the one given a capital G. He still does – a god of sorts at least – no longer the kindly <em>paterfamilias</em>, or a father to all earthly souls residing in the clouds, but something formless and abstract.  He had lived with the belief that such a god would choose to exercise his will for good but is now resigned to the likelihood that this one is of questionable motives or dubious omnipotence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Along with the human weight he carries, this new god is a millstone around his neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you're ruined, you're obligated to tell me below in the comments. ; )</p>
<p>Follow at my <a href="https://estivate9.tumblr.com">tumblr</a> or (more often) <a href="https://twitter.com/Estivate9">twitter.</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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